The idea for this I don’t know, epilogue(?) came to me as I walked down Hollywood Blvd today from the Egyptian Theatre to Dillon’s Pub. After watching a doc about LA, it’s fitting I’d be writing this. I walked pass club after club seemingly crammed between lingerie after lingerie store with tattoo parlors sprinkled in between. I looked at those in line and thought, “oh shit,” I will NEVER get laid in LA; and subsequently this is why I haven’t been getting laid in LA. THIS is where EVERYONE was going to let’s be honest, have sex. And I was not going there. I would not go there. I hate clubs, well not hate I just don’t do them. But not only is it the fact that I’m not going to these “fuck farms;” but I don’t sound, act, and perhaps more importantly look like ANY of these men.
They pull up in their stretch hummer limos and party buses: the white men dressed in a mix of some amalgamation of a jersey shore attire (sans the ridiculous tan), a suit jacket, and cigarettes in seemingly both hands and one in their mouth as well. While the blacks dress like Mr. Bentley but more closer to Kanye West but still slightly off. Except for those still trying to maintain some symbolism of their “blackness” they adorn a look that says lil’ Wayne before or after jail, I can never tell because I’m too mesmerized by the sheer size and shine of their large belt buckles. Tyler Durden’s words from Fight Club begin to reverberate in my head with every glance, “is that what a man looks like?”
Then again it hit me, it seems every step I took on that walk of fame an epiphany struck me. I was in high school again! That’s why I will NEVER get laid in LA, everyone here looks and apparently cares about my clothes and other aesthetics I stopped caring about AGES ago. Now this isn’t to say I didn’t get laid in high school, quite the contrary. But in high school (at least for most of it) I played the game. But upon growing up, I grew out of that and now it seems walking this path of tourism dreams, LA has slipped into a realm of high school. A place where it’s perpetually prom every weekend, the gaudy and “cheap” limos have to be evidence of that.
And then I saw it, an insanely sexy woman with a see through dress on with thong on underneath. A woman who in wearing that outfit knows I’m looking, WANTS me to look, wants EVERYbody to look. Fuck farms, these truly are those and then I got slightly…upset? Turned off? Because as much as this post(?) may seem like the rantings of a horny guy; I don’t just wanna get laid anymore. I don’t know when, but that Marvin went the way of the Dodo… Now that doesn’t mean I’ll turn down a “good time;” it just means that I won’t get Laid in LA because that’s all there is.. I had come from the Midwest, with some new found Midwest sensibilities and an attire and attitude (that worked in college) that said, “yes this is what I wear in public, because I don’t think it affects who/what I am, and it shouldn’t affect how you perceive who I am.” Guess someone should have given me the memo on my flight.
So now I sit at Dillon’s Pub, in a large booth by myself waiting for friends who inevitability did not come (well I didn’t stay till 2 to find out). But before leaving I asked two Canadian ladies across from me to join me and tell them it’s only to keep the servers off my case about occupying too much space. They oblige but after a few minutes of convo, it’s clear they’re not so much interested in me by their line of questioning.. Well lack of questions, about who I am as my questions posed to them are answered fully and politely, but not met with your traditional response of, “so how about you?” Perhaps they’re not a fan of my Mr. T-Rex shirt, or maybe because my value as a perspective mate was lowered (as Mystery would say) because I was sitting alone, and my friends seemingly had no care about leaving me at a booth all by my lonesome. Thus they and I finish our drinks and go our separate ways.
My second walk down Hollywood Blvd is met with the same encounters yet slightly drunker on their part, but also, this time a different revelation as I approach my car. “Wait!” I exclaim in my head replaying the walk, “it’s not LA, it’s Hollywood!. I will never get laid in Hollywood!” What I mean is, “LA” isn’t like this, LA is whatever you make it. From hanging with the hipsters in Echo Park, the beach bums and actual bums in Santa Monica, and the Armenians and cool kids in Glendale; LA is what you want it to be. I’m never gonna get laid in Hollywood, I hate Hollywood. Hollywood and its danger dogs, black people dress code, and clubs on every corner… I will NEVER get laid in Hollywood, and you know what, I can live with that. Feeling some piece of completeness(?) and that everything was right in the Marvin universe, I got into my car and drove off… And less than 200 feet from my parking spot, I got pulled over by the LAPD on a DWB. Thank you, Hollywood, I don’t like you either…